INTRODUCTION The scene is not unfamiliar to many large capitals of the world on market day. The narrow lanes are overflowing with fresh fruit, produce, and hand crafts. Trucks laden with imported goods from around the world are being unloaded, and these goods too are exhibited in the outdoor stalls. The languages vary, as do the songs. Strains of Islamic chant mix with African drums and Andean wood pipes. The smells mix as well. These include the odor of rotting produce crushed under foot by a steady traffic of buyers, tourists and vendors. Richer smells can also be detected: cut flowers and herbs, pungent cheeses and fresh fish. Cooked foods are available from walking vendors and well-established shops with long lines of hungry patrons. The sounds of hissing oil, percolating coffee, and bubbling concoctions that promise health as well as to satisfy one’s hunger float over it all. And finally, as the capstone, there is the dominant aroma of burning incense—a sweet-smelling copal from the mountains of Central America. Strolling through this bedlam of languages and assorted accents are representatives of the state: police to maintain order, tax collectors to guarantee that all of the vendors have paid their fees and baksheesh. At the edge of the market, in a quieter place set apart from the bustle of vendors and the press of the crowd, are two small tables laid over with brightly covered cloths and various crystals, hexagons and cards painted with signs from Jewish cabalism, Hindu mandelas, and drawings of the zodiac. Behind one table sits a woman reading the palm of an anxious client. They speak in hushed tones but the woman doing the “reading” is overheard encouraging her client to “risk moving the crystal through the next passage” depicted in the maze woven into her tablecloth. Across the small plaza, a second reader is promising happy results to her client if he throws a certain talisman into the river. The river in this case is the Potomac and the place is Washington’s Eastern Market. This is where Congress’s young staff members, Capital Hill lobbyists, and assorted professionals purchase their produce on Saturday mornings and, while waiting for the fresh fish to arrive from the Chesapeake, receive enlightenment with the help of the market’s resident shamans, witches, and fortune tellers.
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Sep 19, 2013
Samar Rabah + 1
Open Access